Every morning around the same time as the sun is rising, my father comes into my room and kisses me on the cheek, though I'm still sleeping.
Every night, my mom comes and kneels next to my bed, and we say our bedtime prayers…Our Father Who art in Heaven…, Hail Mary, full of grace… (three times), Glory be to the Father, the Son…, O My God I’m heartily sorry for having offended You…, Angel of God my guardian dear…, St Michael the Archangel defend us in battle…, Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord…, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, we love you, save souls. She then sprinkles me with Holy Water (she keeps the bottle in the pocket of her robe), says I love you, kisses me on the cheek, and says Bon soir, bug as she walks out.
I became acquainted with the saints very early on. They were on their pedestals in church, on the windows, on prayer cards, around the house, in my coloring book. (I’m grievously sorry, St. Elizabeth of
I loved reading of the martyrs like St. Cecilia, who had held her hands in a certain position and prayed for three days with her head only barely clinging to her trunk, I loved seeing bad pictures of St. Francis Xavier with a ball of fire above his head and having the facial expression of a man who is about to burst an aneurysm. I loved reading about all those young saints, so consumed with God’s love that it was literally consuming their bodies, and they were happily suffering and living on nothing but the Eucharist alone. St. Aloysius Gonzaga as a rosy-cheeked boy cherub. St. Rose of
We have saints that always knew they were going to be saints (St. Maria Goretti) and saints who got there initially kicking and screaming (St. Francis of Assisi). Saints who refused to fight (St. Martin of Tours) and ones who led armies (St. Joan of Arc). Saints that levitated during Mass (St. Joseph of Cupertino), and saints that fell asleep (St. Therese of Lisieux). Ones who were kings (St. Louis) and ones who did without great possessions (St. Anthony the Great). Ones who founded religious orders (St. Madeleine-Sophie Barat) and ones who did great things in existing ones (St. Bernard of Clairvaux). Ones whose lives are concealed behind myth and legend (St. Dymphna) and ones who kept diaries (St. Maria Faustina Kowalska). And on it goes. I risk irreverence here, but I always felt we Catholics could do a commercial: "We've got thin ones, tall ones, short ones, fat ones. Smart ones, silent ones, old ones, young ones. Mystics, peasants, nobles, confessors...."
[Note: I hate when Catholics label themselves as traditionalist or neo or liberal or rad or whatever else, as if the Church is a political party and there are certain planks that define your position. For Heaven’s sake, if you are Catholic and feel you MUST label yourself, at least choose something that makes spiritual sense - something resonates with the rhythm of your heart and the melody of your soul. Say, “I’m in the beat of the Carmelites, to the melody of St. Teresa of Avila” or "I move to the rhythm of the Redemptorists, to St Gerard Majella's resounding baritone." Otherwise, you’re just talking about the ideas that bind your mind. (And the debate between Thomists and Molinists cannot slide in this way).]
I wonder, if I ever have children, what it is I will teach them. Maybe I'll read ecumenical council documents to them when they're still in utero. Will I whisper in their ears details of the Hesychast controversy while pushing them on the swing? Will I greet them every morning with a fact about humanism and sola scriptura? Will I demand discussions about the immanent Trinity and the economic Trinity over the dinner table? Maybe I will tape pictures of Popes Hormisdas and Honorius I in their rooms, so Catholic-Orthodox debate will be natural to them. And I will put notes about free will and nature in their lunch boxes, to discuss with their friends at school. Maybe my children (by the age of 10!! God, I pray that in your infinite mercy and wisdom, you will give me genius children. Amen.) will finally figure out how Calvinists can believe in unconditional election and irresistible grace and yet care so much about what others do.
And yet this is outside the rhythm of my life. I like to pray the prayers I've known since childhood. I like the silly artwork and the medals. I like the variety. It has flavor, and I come from a family heritage that is a motley mix.
I began with the two images from my childhood for a reason. They are the images of St. Joseph:
O St. Joseph, I never weary contemplating you and Jesus asleep in your arms. Press His fine head and kiss Him for me, and ask Him to return the kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, patron of departing souls, pray for us.
And St. Anne teaching the Blessed Virgin:
Good St. Anne, mother of her Who is our Life, our Sweetness and our Hope, pray to her for us, and obtain our request.
The saints are everyday life. They are the rhythm, the ebb and flow. In the darkness, they are the medium through which God's light shines. They are family, and they have cool names and led awesome lives. Read about them, talk to them, get to know them. Find out what they have to say about Christ. They'll talk your head off, if you let them.
6 comments:
I can't blog anymore!
I can't concentrate.
YOU know who I am thinking about.
Pseudo-iamblichus, gain hold of yourself. The writings of St. John of the Cross send ME into ecstasy too, but this must of course be tempered with our daily obligations. The writings of St. Francis of Assisi are quite calming in this regard.
"Allí me mostrarías
aquello que mi alma pretendía,
y luego me darías
allí tú, vida mía,
aquello que me diste el otro día:
el aspirar del aire,
el canto de la dulce filomena,
el soto y su donaire,
en la noche serena
con llama que consume y no da pena;"
The Beloved:
"There you shall show me,
That which my soul longed for,
There then you, my life and love, will give me thing which you showed me the other day:
The vigor of the air,
The song of the sweet nightengale,
The grove and its beauty,
In the still night,
With a flame that consumes
But does not burn."
-Cantico Espritual, San Juan de la Cruz (John of the Cross).
Also, this:
"...esperé solo este lance,
y en esperar no fui falto,
pues fui tan alto, tan alto,
que le di a la caza alcance. "
I waited only for this catch
And in this my hope was not stunted,
For I climbed the ever ascending way,
And thus gave chase to the Hunted.
-"Tras un amoroso lance"
I pray for your future children. No, I am not praying they will be geniuses...I just pray for them.
Uhhhhh.... Remind me never to get into an argument with you. That was really, really splendid. Really splendid. Just a few observations:
Why not read Origen and Tertullian? Those are the two founts of theology in the Eastern and Western Churches.
St. Seraphim of Sarov used to tell young mothers to whisper the Jesus Prayer to their infants while nursing:
"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."
You actually read Calvin? Is there something you HAVEN'T read. You make me feel like such a slouch.
I am a Roman Catholic stuck in the Byzantine rite lightly flavored with St. Therese, the Fathers of the Desert, the Cappodocian Fathers, and St. Maximos Confessor, with a hint of scholasticism and heavily topped with gallons and gallons of wailing Spanish Catholicism. (I like my crucifixes bloody, my Virgin Mary statues sad and ornately dressed, and my saints as kitschy as possible.)
Sorry I didn't read this sooner. I have been busy.... doing.....things....
cg, thank you for praying for any children I may have in the future. We can all use all the prayers we can get.
"Remind me never to get into an argument with you."
Um, the title of this blog suggests that people shouldn't try to argue with me. I will always win, and they will feel very beaten up.
I have since read some Origen and Tertullian. But at the time, I interpreted their not being Saints to their writing not being any good (at least about God). But I was 12 or 13 at the time.
How could one whisper the Jesus Prayer to an infant? Children need to hear nothing but how wonderful they are, how they are perfect golden baubles, how they deserve an Xbox as soon as they start teething, etc. The Jesus Prayer would certainly hurt their developing self-esteem. (I'm only joking.)
Calvin's Institutes are alot of fun for someone with an analytical bent. I avoid St. Maximos the Confessor, and I could not make it through Meyendorff's "Christ in Eastern Christian Thought," if it makes you feel better. The philosophy was warping my brain.
Thank you for the wonderful writings from St. John of the Cross.
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